


I'm not fortune's fool (I'm yours)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Van Helsing (TV 2016)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: She was suddenly shy.It was so unexpected he wanted to laugh.





	I'm not fortune's fool (I'm yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Netflix's "Van Helsing" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: I recently got into "Van Helsing" and fell in love with Flesh (Phil) and the Phil x Lucky pairing. This has to do with their kiss in 2x05, my thoughts on what happened next.
> 
> Warnings: sexual content, first time, oral sex, unprotected sex, hurt/comfort, romance, drama, angst.

" _I should probably-"_

* * *

She was suddenly shy.

It was so unexpected he wanted to laugh.

She was the one who'd kissed him first, after all.

But now here she was, wary and giving him an out he didn't want. In fact, he wanted the opposite. He wanted to  _take_. He wanted this and her - even the way she took a half step back when he set down the jug of cooking oil.

It'd occurred to him after she'd left him standing in the kitchen, shell-shocked and still, that she was probably insulted. Put off by his complete lack of reaction when she'd caught him off guard with the kiss.

Hell, maybe she was even pissed at him for it.

He didn't blame her.

He could admit that he'd froze. Standing there like an idiot, inhaling the same air as she'd pulled away slowly. Almost able to taste the grease as the phantom pressure of her lips tingled like lit sparks. There had been a lot going on. The ache of an empty belly. The idea of being able to turn the cooking oil to diesel. What she'd called him. The way they were suddenly so close. The back of Mohammad's head just visible through the order window, nodding nonsensically to some silent beat. The sound of the wind howling low through the rusty vents above them. Everything had seemed strangely saturated. Colors. Sights. Sounds. Smells. Her.

_God._

It had been so long he'd nearly forgotten.

He'd touched them later outside, marveling and quiet as the pads of his fingers tapered back and forth across his lips. Forced to come to terms with the realization that he'd purposely ignored all the signals. The way he'd told her his real name the moment they'd met. The way he'd trusted her, been in awe of her. Even how she'd kept close instead of going their separate ways after blowing the generators. All of it. Because he'd believed, without a shadow of a doubt, that he'd never have  _this_ , whatever  _this_  was, ever again.

 _After_   _all_ ,  _who'd_   _want_   _to?_

Especially knowing what he was, what he used to be?

 _Her_ ,  _apparently_.

But all that melted away when he reached up and cupped her cheek. He could see it in her eyes - forgiveness, relief, want. It was like fuel. Just like with the gas for the truck, she was bringing another part of him back to life in real time.

She leaned into the press of his hand. Suddenly struck by the difference only a few days could make as he recalled how she'd emerged out of the dust and smoke singing. Taking his measure like breathing as she pulled him to his feet. He'd barely been able to get out the words, struck by her in more ways than one.

 _God_ ,  _he'd_   _been_   _an_   _idiot_.

He'd wanted her since that moment.

He just hadn't let himself own it.

And she wanted him.

God knows why.

But she did.

He surged up gently to reach her lips, grateful when she met him halfway. Eager and hungry, just like he was. Feeling young and awkward again as her back hit the wall and she was slipping off his glasses. Having to go up on his toes to reach until she curved for him. Letting him direct their movements as his free hand tangled in her hair, then the buttons of her jacket. Tearing at them with a growl that was nothing like the animal rattle he used to have.

He couldn't get enough. Finally realizing he'd been slowly starving all this time as he tossed the jacket behind him and pulled off her shirt. Hands everywhere, memorizing the soft of her breasts and the slight upturn of her nipples through the worn material that smelled thick with sweat and her. The light sleeve of freckles on her upper arms. The way her hips fit perfectly in his hands.  _All of it._

"No fair," she breathed with a grin when he let her bra drop. Leaving her in just her jeans and boots. Pale skin glowing in the moonlight, highlighting a lattice of raised pink scars that ran from the underside of her left breast all the way down to her hip. "Don't I get a turn?"

He thumbed it reverently. Not asking, but pausing anyway. Kissing distractedly down the underside of her chin until she chuckled lowly and ducked her head - ticklish.

"I totaled my car the day of the Rising," she told him with a smile. Unashamed and strong as her hand feathered down to rest on top of his. Imprinting the pattern across the inside of his palm. "Got t-boned in an intersection when a mob of them came screaming out of a strip mall by the university. A couple of nursing students got me out and patched me up in the back of a truck heading to a military base somewhere. It's how I met up with the Resistance, eventually."

"Lucky," he hummed with a smile, encouraging their fingers to lace together as he looked up at her. Tucking a swath of auburn-blonde back behind her ear. Thinking more or less favorably about second chances as his cock firmed against the tight line of his jeans.

"You know it, big boy."

He was dragging his cheek down the curve of her breast, mentally hung up on what he wanted to do first, when she tugged pointedly at his scarf.

"Let me?"

He nodded, mouth dry. Suddenly feeling shy and unsure himself as she pulled his jacket and shirt up over his head. Spiking his hair up like a fringe as she looked down at him with warm eyes.

"Looks like I'm in good company," she murmured. Tracing the faded scar on his side. Smiling as his hips hitched forward unbidden. Wanting her touch.

"Appendix," he breathed.

He'd been thirty-two, angry about calling in sick from work for the first time as what he'd thought had been a stomach flu had laid him flat out. His wife - the woman who would become his wife - had been one of the nurses in the Emergency room when his roommate had called the Ambulance. She'd been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Dark haired and shy. She'd mispronounced his last name, just like everyone did. And he'd let her. Looking up at her as her mouth had made sounds he suddenly couldn't hear. She'd been the first face he'd seen after the surgery. She stayed with him past her shift, sleeping in the chair beside his bed because his parents had been in the middle of the Atlantic somewhere on a cruise. He'd asked her out for coffee three days later when she took out his I.V. She'd laughed at him, but he'd still found her number stuffed in the pocket of his jeans when he'd signed out.

"Sexy."

He snorted. Then kissed her. Tongue tracing the line of her teeth as he popped the button of her slacks. Index finger curling underneath, over-eager. Biting into his own cheek when he grazed the fuzz of pubic hairs.

God, she was warm.

Warm like he'd forgotten a woman could be.

Three years might as well have been three decades compared to this.

He tipped his head back.

Exhaling like a hum - a rhythm.

Feeling the slightest hint of humid slickness underneath the curl of his fingers before-

Then she was on her knees.

Oh.

_Oh god._

"You don't have to-" he shuddered, palm curling over the jut of her shoulder anyway – determined to keep her close. Feeling unsteady as she undid his jeans and shimmied them down his thighs, taking his briefs with them and leaving him bare. Eyes slitting closed as his cock bobbed up eager. Crown pearling with pre-cum.

"I want to," she murmured, looking up at him with dark eyes as she leaned in and nudged at the crux of his thigh with her nose. Smirking when he jerked instinctively. Desperately wanting more.

He couldn't help but watch as she moved forward, letting the head of his cock rest momentarily -  _teasingly_  - against the seam of her lips before she opened to him. Taking him in as her tongue slicked around his crown. Following the crease of the head as he shuddered and cursed.

It had been so long he'd-

He bit down on the inside of his fist to keep quiet when she found a rhythm. Swallowing around him – once, twice, then again as the darkness keep any indignity hidden. Soaking in the wet sounds as she worked him in and out. The pressure of her lips around his shaft. The flick of her tongue. The way she was making these gentle little grunts that tugged at something warm and unspooling in the pit of his belly.  
 _  
Oh, Christ._

"I'm going to- Lucky, just-  _Jesus_   _Christ_."

She pulled back, letting go of him with an obscene sounding pop that nearly sent him over the edge anyway. Forcing him to curl his hand around his shaft and squeeze to stave off the rising thrum of pleasure as she fumbled with her buttons and let her jeans drop. Treating him to miles of creamy white thighs and freckled-flecked skin.

He wasn't going to last.

He didn't have a hope in hell.

But he could do this- he could-

"How? How do you want-"

She cut him off before he could finish, dragging him down onto the filthy floor as she kissed him. Distracting him as her palm curled around his cock and drew it  _downdowndown_ until he was pressed up against the warm slit of her lower lips and-

He muffled the high, piercing cry she let go of with his mouth when he pushed inside. Resting his forehead against her collarbone for a long moment as the muscles in his belly twitched - overstimulated. He drew himself up slowly, settling on his hands and knees. Trying to get a better angle as her ankles locked behind him, keeping him grounded, trapped,  _close_.

"Please," she mewled.

And he was lost.

Willingly, utterly,  _gone_.

Finding himself surging forward, as his knees locked and his bad shoulder ached.

And it was good.

All of it was good.

Even the ache.

_No, especially the ache._

_"Because you don't feel it when you're one of them. No guilt for anything. But you live in darkness. Pain is better. Misery is better."_

Back at the hospital he told Vanessa as much. That feeling anything was better than nothing. Some days he could barely stand the nightmares and the guilt, but he could never go back, not even if he wanted to. He'd rather die. Rather eat a bullet from his own gun. Because this? It was sweeter. Better than the enhanced senses, the strength, the connection with the world and all it's baser parts.

He'd fight- hell, he'd pay any price just to keep the memory of that stunned pleasure spreading across his lips when she'd kissed him. To remember the dusty part of him that'd raised its head in interest when she'd pulled him to his feet in the factory. Or the acrid tang of betrayal that'd coursed through him when she'd looked at him through the fenced cage. Then later, the hope that'd replaced it when she'd set him free.

He let go of a fractured sound as his head dropped low between his shoulders. Hips pistoning as everything intermingled. Turning the chill air temporarily humid. An eco-system for two.

"You're incredible," he whispered shakily. Fingers squirming between them to pet the soft hairs that crowned her. Knuckling the swollen little nub until she bit her lip and tightened around him. Making him groan.

"You're not so bad yourself," she laughed, voice pitchy and high as he rubbed her clit in time with his thrusts. Feeling the strain in a couple dozen muscles that might as well have gone to atrophy over the last three years.

"Come on," he gritted. Not sure if he was talking to her or himself, but determined to get there as the fingers of his free hand curled like claws into the peeling linoleum.

He felt himself spark before she got there. Unable to stop himself from falling as gravity condensed and he drove into her shallowly, once, twice,  _again-_  before biting down on the inside of his cheek and making to pull out.

They hadn't talked about it. If she was on something. If she even could. Hell, after turning he didn't know if  _he_  could anymore. He hadn't planned on this and he certainly hadn't expected it. They were flying blind on the seat of their pants and he didn't regret a second. But he really needed to-

Except she didn't let him.

Instead, she held fast. Refusing to let him pull away. Shaking her head vehemently and by then it was too late even if she'd wanted him too.

Because in the next second he was biting off a curse and burying himself as deep as he could. Letting go of a groan that felt like it came from the soles of his feet. Emptying into her as she breathed through the crush and-

In that moment, he was the farthest thing from darkness.


End file.
